I tend to complain a lot about being pregnant. Some, me, might call me down right whiny. I’m fat, I can’t ride my horse (as much), I have hart burn, I have to get a shot. What fun is Christmas when we spend most of our time running to town for doctors appointments. What fun is Christmas when I don’t get to go see my family this year. My self absorption is overwhelming, even to me at times.
Sometimes it takes a little wake up call for me to appreciate how good I have it.
On my way in, to get that nasty shot I hate so much, the other day I passed a tow truck hauling a pick up that had obviously been rolled out of a roadside corn field. It didn’t look so bad but is the third vehicle to roll this month on our quiet little highway. It wasn’t until later that day that I heard the story, it’s a small town things get around fast. Four children from one family had been on their way to school, driven by the oldest brother when he lost control on the slick road. They were all beat up pretty good with the youngest thrown from the car which then landed within a foot of him. He was rushed to Denver with serious injuries.
What a way to spend Christmas with one child out of state in the hospital and the others recovering from injuries. What a way to spend Christmas for those poor parents thinking how close they came to losing one or all of their children. What a way to spend Christmas thinking how lucky I am to be pregnant, to have a beautiful, sweet, healthy child by my side. To have a loving, caring, considerate husband who helps so much with doctors appointments and caring for our little girl, I couldn’t do it with out him.
I am blessed, sometimes it takes seeing a real problem to remember how insignificant mine are.